


Grave Matters

by thesecretsix



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst angst revolution, Gen, Writing Prompt Wednesday, orange shock blankets, so much snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8335123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretsix/pseuds/thesecretsix
Summary: Shortly after the breach, Ozpin visits the grave of an old friend. Written for r/rwby writing prompt wednesday.





	

**Author's Note:**

> r/rwby writing prompt wednesday: Ozpin and Salem were on a team, once upon a time. At the end of v2, they reminisce about how different things are compared to back then.

 

“You can put her down right there,” you tell the Bullhead pilot, gesturing to the snow-capped plateau. “Fly around for about an hour, then pick me up in the same spot.” 

 

“Sure thing, professor.” The g force hits your stomach as the pilot rapidly decelerates and lines up his approach vector. While the Bullhead’s capable of vertical takeoffs and landings, you still need to come in at an angle with this kind of snow coverage. “Where exactly are we, by the way? I mean, what’s this place called?” 

 

You chuckle. You can always tell it’s a pilot’s first time coming out here when they ask that question. 

 

“This place… doesn’t have a name anymore. But if you really want to call it something, I guess you could say… it’s my hometown.”

 

“But, professor, there’s no civilization on this continen-” 

 

“Not anymore, no. And the ice has long since swallowed any signs that there ever was.” The Bullhead makes contact with a soft whump, sinking a bit as the soft snow gives way ever so slightly. “I’ll see you in an hour, Adrian. And hey, don’t turn the engine off-- it’ll freeze.” 

 

With that word of advice, you slide open the door and take a blast of icy wind to the face. 

 

…

 

Visibility in this weather is at most three meters, which means you have to walk forty-seven meters from the Bullhead drop-off point towards the edge of the plateau before you can see it through the swirling snow. The weathered obsidian marker that only you have ever laid eyes on juts proudly, a bold contrast to nature’s stark white. Removing your thick gloves, you run your bare hands over the surface of the rock. You trace out the letters from a forgotten language that you’d carved into it a lifetime prior. 

 

At this point, you’ve forgotten most of that alphabet. Not using it for however many years it’s been will do that to you. Still, you’ll always know this word. 

 

Salem. 

 

“Hello. Well, it’s been another year. I mean, at this point you know how it is. I’ve told you often enough. For the most part, things are about how they always are. I’m still running the school you always wanted to found.” 

 

You don’t know why you do this. It’s not convenient for you to take a full day and fly out past the edge of civilization every year. It’s not useful, either.

 

“That’s enough about me, though. I wanted to talk about you. I miss you, you know. I think I’m living the life you always wanted, which only makes me miss you even more. Do you remember, long ago, when everything was so easy? When we were young, people were… better. Better than they are now. And the Grimm, they weren’t as much of a problem. We’d go out on our own all the time, just you and me. We learned how to fight, not because we had to but because we wanted to. We watched our greatest scientists make groundbreaking discoveries. Dust, flight, even magic.”

 

“I make myself remember those days. It’s the only way I get by. It’s the only way I can remind myself that there’s something for us, for mankind, to aspire to.” 

 

You’re running out of words, so you reach into your jacket and pull out your single snow lily for this year. You press the white flower into the snow before the grave marker and watch as the snow swallows it up. 

 

Salt water isn’t great for plants, but you let your tears fall on it anyways. It doesn’t matter-- the flower’s long dead at this point. Just like everything else in this frozen wasteland. 

 

“You were always too sentimental.” A cool, female voice cuts through your melancholy. But the pilot that flew you here… was it Wysteria? No, it was definitely Adrian and he sounds nothing like this. You turn slowly, readying your cane. There’s no reason for anyone else to be in the land that gods and men abandoned. “Sentiment and hope. Admittedly, these are considered to be mankind’s greatest attributes.” 

 

“That,” she goes on, “was always where you failed.” 

 

The voice grows somewhat louder; the speaker must be walking towards you. Strange how you can’t hear the footsteps.

 

“I’ll admit, Ozpin, it’s been wonderful to see all that you’ve built over these years. You’ve created unity amid chaos, strength from weakness, society from war. ”

 

The figure begins to come into view. 

 

“But you’ve forgotten about the worst of us. You’ve forgotten-- no, you’ve made yourself forget-- how all great civilizations fall.” 

 

No, it’s can’t be…

 

“They rip themselves apart, Ozpin. Divide them, place even the smallest doubt in their minds, and they revert to their base savagery. You’ve seen it happen; can you make yourself remember?” 

 

You can make out her silhouette now, you’re certain it’s her. It can’t be-- she’s buried here under the snow, ice, and earth; you must have put her there yourself- but it is. 

 

“Salem?” The name stumbles past your lips for the first time in centuries. “But… how?” 

 

And then suddenly she’s face-to-face with you, in all of her unnatural glory. Her eyes, once lustrous silver, glow a grimmlike red. Her dessicated skin, her pale hair, her protruding veins-- all the details you couldn’t make out in the blizzard strike you at once. You reel, you stumble back against the memorial to Salem’s life, you stutter out “why?” and “how?” and “what happened?” and even a horrified “Oh my god.”

 

“Hello, Ozpin. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

 

The details come crashing down now. All of the things you’d forgotten, or perhaps suppressed, locked away within your skull-- there’s no running away now. You remember exactly how it was the monument at your back came to be; why it’s the only remnant of your once proud home. Why you’d erected it with your own two hands, after the kingdom had burned. 

 

And you finally remember that it’s not a tombstone after all, or at least not in the traditional sense. There’s no body at it’s base, but it does mark the end of a human life. 

 

“Did you like my present to you?” the monster wearing your dear friend’s face asks. “It’s just like old times.” 

 

Of course she was behind the breach. Roman Torchwick’s reluctance to share the name of his mysterious employer begins to make sense. It’s only common sense to be more afraid of this Grimm in human skin than of any man made prison. 

 

“My students put a stop to it easily enough,” you respond. “You’re not what you once were.” 

 

The creature laughs out loud, a horrible and violent sound. You grimace. 

 

“Does dear Amber share that opinion?” She chuckles; it sounds like teeth on a blackboard. “Or that girl, the cute one with the cloak? That one put up quite the fight. And the time before that, the Schnee started quite the war on my behalf, didn’t they?” 

 

You’re beginning to think Salem’s been behind every negative event in the history of the modern era. It must show on your face, because she goes on:

 

“It’s all been me. It’s _always_ been me.” She leans in close enough for you to smell the decay on her breath and whispers, “And it _will_ _always_ _be_ me.” 

 

You begin to panic. You flex your aura, gauging how long you’ll be able to fight and sending small probes to measure Salem’s power. It’s not looking great for you. The period of the four kingdoms has been marked with relative peace and a more refined sort of dispute, so you’ve spent the last century practicing your administrative skills. Sure, you can scheme and barter with the best of them, but that’s not going to do much to prevent your immediate demise.

 

Salem steps back, apparently uninterested in taking your life here. “This is the beginning of the end, Ozpin. And I can’t wait to watch you burn.” She turns to leave. 

 

“Salem!” You shout her name out with more confidence than you possess, but she only starts to walk away. “Salem,” you repeat, pleading, and she glances back over her shoulder at you. “What… what made you like this. Why is this the route you’ve chosen?” 

 

“What made me this way?” She turns away again. “You did.” 

 

…

 

“Professor? Professor? Can you hear me, sir?” 

 

Your legs are cold. Freezing. Wet. Your face, too. Your arms and back are warm, though. It’s probably because of this orange cloth on your shoulders. Wait, is this a shock blanket? 

 

Someone’s talking to you, pulling you to your feet. “Ad-” you can’t remember who this is. “Adam?” 

 

“Adrian, sir. Are you alright, professor?”

 

“H-how long.” How long have I been out here in the snow, you want to ask, but your brain can’t get the message to your mouth properly. The pilot puts it together anyways. 

 

“About ninety minutes, sir. I came back in the hour you’d said, and when you didn’t make it back after another ten I started searching. I found you on your knees in the snow, professor.” 

 

You muster your strength and manage something resembling a full sentence. “We h-have to get back to B-beacon. Now, right now. And call…” 

 

Who was it you had to call? Right. 

 

“Branwen. Call Branwen.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So this got a little out of hand. I wasn't going to write, but this was bouncing around in my head being super distracting. Unbeta'd, so it came out before the Miracles of Modern Engineering I've been promising-- that's still stuck in the editing process, but I felt okay just churning this out since it's short and originally for reddit. 
> 
> For those that thought I might be dead: I'm not dead. I've just been busy writing/defending a thesis, getting a job, and moving across the country.


End file.
